more fun with the scanner--a quiz

Who is in this photo, circa 1994? Okay, you probably have a good guess who the squinting, frizzy-haired person is on the left (I had just had a bad perm!) So I'll give one hint for the guy on the right: he's one of my all time heroes (besides The Hermit, of course).

No guesses yet? One more hint: He plays an instrument that I play. And he plays it a lot better than I do.

And the winner is...Troutgrrrl, followed by Dan, who correctly identified Sam Bush, mandolinist extraordinaire. This photo was taken at the 1994 Telluride Bluegrass Festival, where Sam is the undisputed "King of Telluride". The Hermit and I were editing the newsletter of a Minnesota bluegrass organization at the time, and we managed to get press passes to Telluride. One day we were hanging out in the press area to the side of the stage and out comes Sam. He's really nice and down-to-earth, like most of the bluegrass/acoustic musicians I've met. We even got to do an interview with him, where I think I managed to articulate a somewhat intelligent-sounding question about where the style of music was going. But really all I could think was "I'm sitting here talking with Sam Bush!" I wish I'd had my mandolin with me so I could have had him play it, but then I wouldn't have wanted to change strings ever again.

scanner test

Calvin is home sick today, one of those not-so-pretty stomach bugs, so while he was resting and Mr. Attitude was playing video games I decided to try setting up the scanner. We've had it for a few years but it's been in storage since the last move. As always, it was a longer job than anticipated, but here's the initial test:


This is a barred owl that came to visit at another place we called home for a while. This owl perched in the same tree, same branch, on and off for about two weeks in late February or early March, allowing me to set up the tripod and telephoto lens for a nice portrait.

waiting for January to return

Usually January is the low point of the winter; weeks of below zero weather are common, accompanied by blizzards. But this year we have had a reversal of sorts; January was the warmest on record, with some days of highs in the 40's. I was hoping that meant we were out of the woods as far as cold weather was concerned. Normally once it gets beyond mid February the chances of bitter cold weather all but disappear. However, mid February came and went, bringing with it some of the coldest nights of the year so far, and the temps have not gone up. I'm longing for the balmy days of January.

I haven't even been out cross country skiing yet. I was hoping to get the kids out some this year, but I like skiing best when temperatures are in the mid to upper 20's, not too chilly. Weekend days the high temps have hovered around 15 and it's been windy more often than not. Besides that, I can't find my ski wax. I know, excuses, excuses.

I don't even know where I'm going with this post. Winter blahs I guess. Maybe it's time for something completely outrageous, like skijoring behind Togo. Skijoring is like dogsledding with skis instead of a sled. I imagine it would be something like waterskiing, which I used to do, but without the nice, forgiving water waiting when you fall. Then again, maybe I won't.

Update: I did it! And I made it home in one piece. While I had envisioned Togo taking off running down the driveway with me holding on frantically and no way to stop, it was more me shuffling along without my poles trying to discourage Togo from stopping and sniffing everything and rolling in the snow. I think he needs to get used to the feel of the harness. It ended up being a lot more work for me than I thought it would; only a couple of times was Togo actually running and pulling me. Pretty exhilarating being out, though, and it's fun to work with a dog. I hope he had a good time!

this morning at the feeder

A white breasted nuthatch, in its usual upside down pose, eyes a black-capped chickadee waiting its turn.

A male evening grosbeak effortlessly crushes sunflower seeds.

this is what happens when you let your 6 year old daughter use your camera

i think she's outdone me.

dances with eagles

I was going to write a long, moody post about how I've been so down lately about the state of the world we live in, the path of destruction we're on, and whether anyone can make a difference. I just finished reading Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. My review in a nutshell: this book is IMPORTANT. Of course for many of you who hang out here and other related blogs, the message it contains will be familiar, but it's the thought process and development of that message that makes this book convincing. I liked that it did not conclude with a sense of gloom and doom and powerlessness, but rather a message of hope: there is another path we can take, and it's not too late. Up with the Leavers!

But when human society gets me down, I look to nature for solace. Where I live, that means I don't have to look too far. Sometimes it even finds me as I am on my way from one place to another. For the past few days, eagles and ravens have been hanging around a road killed deer. I saw this one two days ago on my way home:

I'm pretty sure this is the same one I saw again this morning, looking majestic in the sunlight.

It took flight after this photo was taken, and as I was trying to follow its flight on my camera screen, another eagle, a juvenile, appeared.

I wonder how things look from their point of view.

the latest musical addition

As if two guitars, mandolin, bouzouki, flute, fiddle, various whistles, and small drums were not enough, we now have a keyboard in the house. Starflower began taking lessons two weeks ago, so we got my keyboard out of storage and somehow managed to make room for it.

I took a few piano lessons when I was a preteenager, and I could still probably play an acceptable tune or two, but somehow I never caught on to it like I did with flute or stringed instruments. It did teach me the fundamentals of music theory, however, and I still think piano is one of the best instruments for learning the basics. Although Starflower just had her second lesson yesterday, and this picture was taken last night while she was practicing, I can tell she has a sense of rhythm and she was doing a good job of playing simple melodies.

You would think, with all of the instruments in the house, that this place would be alive with music every evening and the TV and video games would be silent. Alas, it has not been that way this weekend. I'm in somewhat of a musical rut lately; I need some inspiration, something to get me going again. Or maybe I just need a swift kick: "Quit making excuses, get out an instrument, and PLAY IT!"

goldfinch update and notes on Sibley

About a month ago I posted about an unusually yellow goldfinch that had been hanging around my feeder. I did not see that particular goldfinch this weekend, but I did find out more about what causes bright yellow colors in goldfinches, courtesy of the Minnesota Birding Network listserv. Someone else asked about the same thing, and this was the response:

The brightness of plumage for the American Goldfinch is an indicator of the
amount of carotenoids the bird ingests during the molting period. A friend
of mine, who works with AMGO and their carotenoid pigments, suggested that
the bird may have ingested a larger amount of carotenoids during the molting
period (vs. his flock mates). Maybe the reason he is so yellow is because
he is an "aggressive" bird and able to outcompete his buddies. Another
possible argument is that he may have lived in a different area during his
molt where the foraging was better. Hope this helps.

So the yellow guy may be a superfinch.

I was perusing through my new copy of The Sibley Field Guide to Birds of Eastern North America last night, and while I like the format overall and the amount of information given for a small, pocket-size guide, I came across a couple of statements that I questioned. About the Great Blue Heron: "Nests in colonies in dead trees..." I have seen several great blue heron nesting colonies, and the trees they are in were all very much alive. Sometimes the nesting activity of the herons, and the accumulation of waste, ends up killing the trees, but I have seen one particular colony at least once a year since 1971, and very few trees have been lost.

The other statement, on the immediately preceding page, regarding the American Bittern: "Uncommon in marshes, where it hides among grasses and reeds, its cryptic plumage blending in with the vegetation." I once believed that bitterns were so secretive that I had little chance of ever seeing one. That is, until I encountered this brazen bittern last summer.

Despite these discrepancies, I think Sibley's guide clarifies some things that my 20 year old Petersen's and 35 year old Birds of North America failed to. For example, I was mystified by the woo-woo-woo sound produced by the wingbeats of one bird here in the spring, and neither of my books offered much help. Sibley clearly identified it as a Wilson's snipe, which must be a relatively new name for that species.

I'm hoping to get out in the marshes and woods more this spring and identify more of the species that are no doubt here, but which I have not taken the time to see or hear.

Deb goes to the mall...

He tricked me, I tell ya.

The urge to drive to Duluth hit yesterday. It seemed like a better option than all of us staying inside all day, and we wanted a few things from Evil Sam's. The Hermit also had a pair of sunglasses that needed fixing, and the store where he purchased them has a nice lifetime warranty. It also happens to be in a shopping mall.

I don't do shopping malls anymore. I have little need to expose myself and my kids to the crass consumerism, the "shopping as pastime" aspect of it. I admit I enjoyed malls as a teenager, and even worked in one for a while. But that part of my life is undeniably over, and I don't think I had set foot inside a shopping mall for several years.

But this shopping mall happens to have a major chain bookstore that I like. I like small, independent bookstores better, but they are becoming a rare commodity these days what with online bookstores and all. (I'm not mentioning names because that leads to hits from people searching for the names, and free advertising for the corporations involved.) So I agreed to the condition that the kids and I would be able to spend some time browsing in the bookstore while the glasses were being fixed.

Ha! Little did I realize (and how could I realize? I don't know how this mall is laid out because I DON'T DO MALLS!) that the eyeglass shop and the bookstore are at opposite ends of the mall. The Hermit parked close to the eyeglass shop, which meant the kids and I had to walk thru the entire mall to get to the bookstore! Arrrgh! Talk about overstimulation, from one who is easily overstimulated. I remember little, except that (insert name of national chain lingerie store here) was a bad dream of Pepto Bismol pink. That, and for some reason there were $20,000 pontoon boats on display at various places in the walkways. And from everywhere in the neon lights and the mannequins in the windows I thought I could hear the faint cry: "Buy me! Come on, you deserve it. You need it. You're worth it." Maybe that's why some people find such great satisfaction hanging out in malls. It's the one place they feel like they are worth it, if they only buy this or that.

I ignored the cries and made a beeline for the bookstore, which was too crowded for my liking. Calvin immediately went to the Calvin and Hobbes collection, Starflower and Mr. Attitude browsed the kids' section, and I looked through the "Nature" section. Remembering that I had not purchased a new bird guide in about 20 years, and having heard good things about it, I picked up a copy of The Sibley Field Guide to Birds of Eastern North America. I deserved it. I was worth it. When those warblers come migrating through in the spring, I'll be ready.

Luckily, The Hermit drove around to the bookstore entrance to pick us up so I did not have to endure another hike through the belly of the mall. Then it was down the hill to downtown, enjoying the spectacular view of Lake Superior along the way and fantasizing what it would be like to ride a skateboard down the steep streets. And off to my favorite stop, the beer store, then a few groceries and then headed home.

An invitation

I would like to extend this invitation to all readers of this blog to come and spend this, the coldest weekend of the year, here at Sand Creek. You'll have to dress warm, and cover everything; with the wind chill factor added to the temperature above, any exposed flesh starts freezing almost instantly. But don't worry; it's plenty warm inside, with the wood stove and propane heater going simultaneously. You can enjoy watching Calvin playing Tony Hawk Skateboarding on the Game Cube, or watch Harry Potter movies, or maybe enjoy a little music from me, or help me plan my garden. The beer is nice and cold, all I have to do is keep it on the porch floor and it nearly freezes. Later on I'll make a pot of chili guaranteed to warm you inside and out.

The Hermit claims the temperature before sunrise, which tends to be the coldest time, was 28 below zero F. How does that compare with the rest of Minnesota? International Falls, the icebox of the north, recorded a low of 24 below. Rural Lake County, which includes the towns of Tower and Embarrass that hold the record for the coldest temp ever recorded in the lower 48 (I think it was 60 below), also bottomed out at 24. The lowest recorded temperature I could find for last night was Hibbing, northwest of Duluth on Minnesota's Iron Range, with -27. Cloquet, about 40 miles to the north, recorded a balmy 20 below. Duluth, forget it, with the lake effect they never get as cold as we do here. So it is very likely that this was the coldest spot in Minnesota this morning. As Calvin remarked, "It's so cold, when I pee it freezes before it hits the ground."

Oh, and you can also enjoy a cup of coffee or tea by the woodstove, while you watch the activity at my bird feeder.

I call this dead spruce the "Tree of Life" in winter, because on a day like today the branches are a flurry of bird activity. Note the yellow guy on the trunk.

Here he is at the broken top of the tree. This is the male Evening Grosbeak, a boreal species that we see occasionally in the winter. This morning was the first time I actually saw them come to the feeder.

And of course there are black-capped chickadees. They will likely be close to the feeder all day, as they must eat constantly to stay warm. They are hard to photograph, as they are constantly in motion, like this one.

So come on up to the Frozen North!

A fish out of water

I'm sorry I have not been a good blogger this week. Between The Hermit being out of town and my keeping up with work, school, daycare, chores, and the pursuit of warmth, and being immersed in the preparation of my first PowerPoint presentation and the accompanying talk, and going to the meeting where I presented said talk, I have not had time to breathe, let alone blog. I can relax now.

I came up with the title of this post as a reference to the nature of the meeting I attended, which was a gathering of Fisheries staff from the five area offices in our region. This happens every other year; in the alternate years we have a really big extravaganza with staff from the entire state. I am also referring to my general state of mind at such gatherings.

Not that I don't enjoy these meetings, and I think it is important to know what is going on in the organization beyond our little office, as well as interact socially with my colleagues. I have known many of these people for nearly fifteen years now, and Fisheries people in general are very down-to-earth, unpretentious types. I also didn't mind having a single hotel room, complete with thermostat, indoor plumbing, shower, and bathtub, all to myself! To feel at home, I did turn the thermostat down to about 62 at night. ;)

However, for an introvert like myself, who maybe even teeters on the far high-functioning end of the Asperger's/autism spectrum, too much social interaction becomes overwhelming after a while, and I end up needing quiet time at home (HA! No such thing!) to recharge.

Thanks to those higher up the food chain in the agency for which I work, who obviously don't think we're worthy of having a meeting at all and vetoed our first reasonably-priced venue, we ended up at a budget hotel, which was nice enough, but the meeting room for fifty plus people was only slightly larger than the total square footage of my tiny house. We were packed in, as one former flight attendant put it, "Like economy class passengers on a 747 to Tokyo".

My presentation went well. Despite my introverted nature, I have never had a problem with public speaking, probably thanks to my experience playing music for an audience. And, watching the other speakers, I realized everyone is far from perfect at it.

By after lunch on the second day, I had had enough. Packed in the tiny room, I felt fatigued, and my eyes hurt. Perhaps that was due to the heavy perfume worn by the person behind me; I am somewhat sensitive to fragrances. After the meeting concluded, and the hour-long ride back to the office (luckily I didn't have to drive), I had to pick Starflower up from her Girl Scout meeting, go home, then return to the school in the evening for parent-teacher conferences. Were it not for the lasagna The Hermit had ready when I got home the first time, I don't know if I would have been able to endure more interaction. As it was, I think all I did was nod and smile as Calvin's and Starflower's teachers praised their excellent work and their personalities. (I'm so proud of them!) When we got home, finally, I could only dive under the comforter with a cool washcloth over my eyes.

We got our high speed internet hooked up at home, and I'm likely to be spending a lot of time indoors this weekend as the temperatures dip down lower than they've been all winter, so I'll hopefully catch up on blogging!

this is what makes it all worthwhile

another weekend in paradise

I normally try to steer away from bitter sarcasm here and look on the bright side, but it's been one of those mornings. The Hermit is away for a few days, taking a long-overdue trip to visit his parents. There's plenty of dry, split firewood ready to go, no problem with that. Yesterday the kids and I went to the storage shed and into town for a few errands, then I went to Fred and Missy's to drop off some eggs. I just happened to get there when they were cooking dinner, so they invited us to stay, and we had a great time as always.

I was too tired to start a fire when we got home, so I thought no problem, that's what the propane heater is for. I turned it on medium heat to get the house warmed up for the night. I fell asleep reading Ishmael while Calvin and Starflower stayed up for their usual Saturday night Red Green show. When I came out to turn off lights at about 11:30, they were both asleep under blankets on the couch, and the propane stove was...out. Ran out of fuel. I was still too groggy to start a fire then, much less stay awake long enough to ensure it was burning well. The house was still fairly warm, so I thought maybe we'd make it all huddled together under the big down comforter, then I'd get up early and tackle the fire building process.

I made a mistake in assuming there was enough suitable kindling lying around. There wasn't, and I wasted about half an hour and several matches trying to get something going with too-thick, too-damp wood. The other mistake was in assuming we had a tool lying around that I could handle splitting kindling with; a seven pound splitting maul might work for a 6 foot tall man who's used to splitting wood, but I felt like I was trying to shell peanuts with a bowling ball. I also had the perfectly rational fear that I would end up severing a digit and never being able to play a musical instrument again. Despair set in, and I may have shouted an expletive or two. Or three.

I called The Hermit, who seemed somewhat incredulous that I could not handle such a simple task as splitting kindling. I probably was not nice; it was 50 degrees in the house and I had not had my morning coffee. I ended up saying "Never mind, I'll figure something out." As I was trying once again to maneuver the Splitting Maul of Doom, I saw the neighbor from across the road coming over. The Hermit had called him, and I was beginning to feel stupid about the whole thing, like I'm this helpless little wife who can't even start a fire. The neighbor was nice enough, and in about a minute split enough kindling to get me through the next couple of days. I stopped short of having him start the fire for me; with the proper kindling, even I can do that.

The Hermit had also called the owner of the gas station where we get our propane, and explained the situation. Even though it was 8 AM on a Sunday, and the station isn't even open on Sundays, he came and delivered a 100 pound LP tank, hooked it up, and even got the pilot light going in the heater. Thank goodness for people like him.

The morning wasn't over yet; I still had to feed and water the horses, battle ferocious hissing geese, and feed the Meat Chickens From Hell. I was going to maybe clean out the chicken coop a little today and put fresh hay in their nest boxes so their eggs stay clean, but I think maybe I'll just go for a walk with Togo. A long walk.

We're goin' DSL!

High speed Internet comes to the sticks! As of next Thursday, we will be hooked up to 512,000 kb/s, roughly ten times the speed we have now. This a result of a petition in the town of Bruno, four miles away, to get high speed Internet. Woo-hoo!

tamaracks

the garden path, Part 2: My first garden

After college, I managed to be accepted to graduate school, complete with a research assistantship, at South Dakota State University in Brookings. My major was Wildlife & Fisheries Science. I ended up doing research on a couple of minnow species that make up a significant part of the food chain on Lake Oahe, a Missouri River reservoir. Enough about that, what I did there certainly won't change the world. But what I learned while I was there changed my world.

For the first time, I was on my own. No roommate, no dormitory social structure to report to. I was free to think for myself. I found myself hanging out at bookstores and buying titles like Mother Earth Spirituality by Ed McGaa (Eagle Man). Who ended up coming to my 26th birthday party, playing drums and singing cowboy songs. But again, I am getting ahead of the story.

I had a funky apartment, all to myself, on the ground floor of this big old house. It was basically a kitchen, a living/bedroom, and a huge closet under the stairs that led to the second floor. Orange shag carpet, at no extra cost. I loved it. Anyway, the people who shared the ground floor with me, two couples who were also studying Wildlife & Fisheries, had garden plots in the community gardens just north of town. I had just started dating The Hermit, and he suggested that I(we) get a plot too. On Memorial Day 1990, we planted. Never mind that he lived 200 miles away, and I would be doing all the work, it was just meant to be.

The soil was rich, black, and crumbly. I don't remember exactly, but I know we planted corn. And tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, whatever. I remember eating the corn most of all. At that time, I bicycled everywhere. There was just no point in driving my car, a very fuel efficient Nissan Sentra, any place that I could not ride my bike. So I found myself riding out to the garden plot in the evening, shovel and hoe in hand, to tend to the garden. My schedule that summer was that I spent one week on campus, one week 200 miles away on Lake Oahe. I spent my weekends at The Hermit's, another long drive. So I didn't have much time to tend the garden.

It was what it was. A beginning. Sometimes I find myself yearning for that fertile Dakota soil, for the sense of community I found among people tending garden plots in the same area. For my little apartment, and the 20ish sense that everything is possible.

the garden path, Part 1: the early years

With my thoughts turning to gardening and seed catalogs this time of year, I realize that growing food has gotten to be more than just a hobby for me; it's a way of life. Now that I am on land where I can sink my roots, I have settled into the cycles of the seasons so well that it comes without thinking. It's not a question of whether I will plant a garden this year, it's a question of which varieties I will plant and how they will be arranged.

How did I come to be this way? I was not a born gardener, I did not grow up on a farm. I wasn't even remotely interested in gardening until I was an adult. In the next few posts, I am going to explore and share the path that leads to my garden.

You could say, at least on my mom's side of the family, I was of the first generation removed from the land. My mom grew up on a farm until her teens, and although my grandpa was never a full time farmer, they had a garden and a cow. But I grew up in the suburbs, with a back yard just big enough to play a very limited game of wiffle ball. We had a few flowers growing in beds next to the house, and raspberry bushes, which provided a good quick snack during those ball games. When gardening became somewhat popular in the 1970's, my dad tilled up a 6 by 15 patch in a corner of the back yard. He and my mom would plant tomatoes, cucumbers, and green peppers from plants bought at K mart. One year we planted sunflowers and ended up with some giant plants over ten feet tall.

My grandparents had a small garden too, at their lake place where I spent many weekends. They grew tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, radishes, and green beans, the usual Minnesota garden fare. I remember my grandma canning tomatoes and applesauce, and she made the best dill pickles. Later on, after I was married and had a house and garden of my own, I would learn the basics of canning from her. But that's getting ahead of the story.

So I grew up with a little exposure to growing things, although I was never particularly interested in helping out or having my own garden. I was in 4-H, but my projects stayed far away from any livestock or horticulture. I was into rock collecting, photography, and sewing.

Later on in college, I would major in biology. I wanted a work study job in the biology department, but the only job available was in the greenhouse, watering and repotting plants. I was not specializing in botany, but it was kind of fun being in there among the tropical plants in the cold days of winter. Looking back, the college should have been starting vegetables and growing salad greens for the cafeteria, which I hear it has started to do now, but such ideas were uncommon in the mid 80's. I certainly did not have any such innovative notions; I did not even know what I was going to do with my biology degree after graduation until the second semester of my senior year. I guess you could say I kind of drifted aimlessly through college.

What I did not know was that one year after I graduated from college, I would be planting my first vegetable garden, sowing the seeds for the future. But that will be the next installment.

old house

I wonder what stories this house has to tell.

I pass by this abandoned house just about every day. It sits there, its empty windows gazing into the sunrise, brush growing all around. I can't tell how many years it has been empty, but it looks like it was a nice, cozy house in its day.

The land around here was logged off around 1880-1900, then the cleared land was sold off mainly to immigrant farmers. The 1915 plat map, from a local history book, shows that this land was owned by a Nielsen; Scandinavian, most likely Danish, as the township of Partridge was settled by Danes. The town of Askov holds its Danish tradition proudly, even in this age of homogeneity. A note for you Prairie Home Companion fans: Garrison Keillor's brother resides in the area.

Askov used to pride itself in being the "rutabaga capital" of the state, or maybe even the nation. If you like rutabagas, they were grown here. There was a major rutabaga processing plant, right by the tracks in Askov. They still hold a Rutabaga Festival every year, although probably very few rutabagas are still grown in scattered family gardens. I don't think rutabagas are on the menu at the school or local restaurants.

The post-war policies of the USDA, coupled with the relatively low yield of the land when farmed by "modern" practices, spelled the demise of many family farms in the area. There is still a dairy farm here and there, or a beef operation, or scattered cornfield, but most of the agricultural land is in hay or pasture. Much of the land is tax forfeited, managed for timber harvest by the county, who is not really qualified to know how to do such things. Private land is generally owned by people from the cities, who come up to their cabins for deer season in November.

For some reason, this little house still stands, a remembrance of a time of hope and growth in this area.

UPDATE, 2/07: The house is gone. It was torn down last summer when developers bought the land and subdivided it into ten or twenty acre hunting cabin plots. I miss it.

hairy woodpecker

This handsome cousin of the smaller downy woodpecker is another regular visitor to my feeder. They are nearly identical in markings, but they can be told apart by size and the proportionally larger bill of the hairy. As I was trying to photograph this one, I also noticed that hairys tend to be more skittish than downys; I could not get close to the window while he was at the feeder. I have noticed occasionally at the sunflower seed feeder, the hairy woodpecker will put its bill into the seeds and sweep from side to side, scattering seeds everywhere, without appearing to take any sunflower seeds. Maybe it is looking for something else among the seeds? I don't know.

the road to Duluth

No, we don't have mountains here, although the hill directly ahead is called Spirit Mountain. The city of Duluth, population about 86,000 and the furthest inland port on the Great Lakes, is a beautiful 50 mile drive from my house.

twilight road

This is the east/west road that leads to my north/south road that leads to my home. One mile down, 3/4 mile south. Sometimes driving home, I feel like I'm way out there.

garden plans

It's Groundhog Day, the days are getting longer, and I'm starting to think gardening. I know I won't be able to get out and dig in the dirt for at least two more months, and I should hold out at least another month before starting seeds of any type, but I'm starting to make lists, sketch little diagrams, and compare varieties.

My goals for long-term additions include adding to the two blueberry bushes I planted last year, planting raspberry and lingonberry, and one or two Haralson apple trees. I miss making applesauce, and I have not found a source for apples nearby.

Instead of planting squash in raised beds this year, and having them ramble every which way, I am going to mound up compost from the horse pasture here and there on the acre that surrounds the raised beds, and plant the squash in hills.

I would like to try sweet potatoes this year, in a covered tunnel. I have seen photos in the local newspaper of huge sweet potatoes grown nearby, so I know it can be done.

My plans for the other raised beds are as follows. Each of the raised beds is 4 x 8:

1 garlic (planted last fall, although I won't remember until spring which bed it's in!)
4 tomato (32 plants; I keep telling myself that will be enough, but I know I'll end up planting at least 2 more beds ;) )
1 broccoli/cauliflower
1 cabbage
1 greens/herbs
1 onion
1 carrot/parsnip
1 peppers (mostly jalapeno) with maybe some eggplant.
1 Daikon radish/rutabaga
1 sugar snap pea, followed by a successional planting of fall greens
2 or 3 bush beans, although that just does not seem like enough. Or maybe I'll hedge a bet and try the earliest variety of pole beans I can find in one bed.
oops...almost forgot cucumbers! And tomatilloes! And dill for the cucumbers! Better build some more beds.

Now for the task of figuring out seed orders; one catalog never has everything I want, but I hate ordering just one packet from a catalog, so I end up buying more...

I and The Bird 16

Birdstock is the theme of the latest edition of I and the Bird, hosted by the Dharma Bums. Head on over for a great lineup of peace, love, and bird blogging!

fun with Photoshop

(Click on images to view full size)
I finally made some time to get to know Photoshop today. These filters are fun!

I just finished writing the most boring report ever

Very few people will ever take the time to plow through all 61 pages of text, figures, and tables, which is longer than my Master's thesis was. It will never get published in a professional journal. My laborious hours of data entry, analysis, and fighting with Microsoft Word (WHY does it insist on applying formats to everything?) will probably not add much to the body of knowledge or change the course of recreational fisheries management history. Do I care? Hell no! It's all behind me now, at least until my boss reads it and finds something he thinks should be said differently. Which he will.

The reports I write are results of creel surveys, which measure recreational fishing effort, catch, harvest, and various demographics of anglers on lakes or rivers. I have been analyzing similar data (with the same 1995 DOS-based software!) and writing similar reports for the greater part of ten years now. It should be easy, almost automatic, but for some reason this whole project has taken much longer and come along with more difficulty than any other. Not that the subject matter is any more difficult to deal with; in fact it may be the similarity, the repetition, that makes it more difficult. I'm the kind of writer who wants to be creative, I want to write new, interesting stuff, but even my writing guidelines for this type of report seem to specifically discourage any creativity whatsoever. I'm just burned out on this gig.

What's more, there is no incentive to do a particularly good job on these reports. My inner perfectionist editor gets picky about typos, wording, and table layout, but as long as the basic information is there, in a somewhat clear, readable manner (and I am better at doing this than many of my colleagues) the report gets signed, I get a satisfactory performance review, and I get my paycheck. My job does not operate under a real economy, such as gardening, where my yield is proportional to the effort and expertise I put into it.

So for now, blogging and music will have to be my outlets for creativity.

the cat that defies all odds

This is Dorf. Guess how old Dorf is. If you guessed in the neighborhood of eight months, you are right. And yet, Dorf looks like a kitten half his age, hence the name (remember the Tim Conway character?) The Hermit took this aesthetically pleasing photo of Dorf today, lounging in the woodpile in the sunlight.

Dorf, by all reasonable odds, should not be alive. He is the only surviving progeny of the year (thank goodness), of at least three female cats that had kittens here. He is a thoroughbred, that is to say Whiter Biter and his sister mated, and Dorf is the result. He does not grow, no matter what treats we leave out for the outdoor cats. He has been in the jaws of Togo, my husky, several times. He follows me out to my car in the morning and climbs up on one of the rear wheels, or else hangs out in the path of certain doom.

We have tried to have sympathy for this little waif. We have brought him inside on several occasions, but Puffball, who is roughly the same age as Dorf and four times his size, threatens to shred Dorf to pieces, and perhaps more importantly, Dorf does not understand the concept of a litterbox. When temperatures dipped to ten below (F) in December every night, we tried to bring Dorf in the cookshed, setting up his own food bowl with fresh raw eggs, and a litter box. Nothing ended up in the litter box. Dorf was back outside to fend for himself.

So Dorf survives, assuming his place in the small herd of outdoor cats that hang out here. I don't think Dorf could identify, much less kill, a mouse to save his life. Dorf is just, well, Dorf. He is cuddly and affectionate, but what does that get you in the real world?

the (partly) homegrown dinner

This is one of two "Rainbow" winter squash that I harvested. They are rather small, about 6-8 inches, with medium orange flesh and a rich, aromatic flavor. They obviously store well, as I just used one last night in one of the unnamed, stew-like concoctions I like to cook.

With all of the posting I did last year about gardening and canning, I realize I have not posted much about the good part--enjoying the harvest. And with garden planning time at hand, I thought it would be useful, even to myself, to post about some of the meals that I enjoy from my own garden.

I don't have a name, or even more than a vague recipe, for last night's fare, but I noticed even the kids, who tend to eye my new creations with suspicion, enjoyed it. I started with some leftover ham and three precooked chicken/apple sausages which I cut up and heated in a Dutch oven. I put in a quart of canned tomatoes, drained, and half a pint of tomato sauce (all tomato products homegrown!). Then some chopped onion and garlic (not homegrown; hopefully my garlic crop I planted last fall will yield more this year) and celery, which I have never tried growing. Then I peeled and cubed the Rainbow squash, added some oregano and basil, a splash of red wine, and let the whole thing simmer until the squash was tender, about 30 minutes or so. The stew was served over organic brown rice. Delicious.

The Rainbow squash seeds came from Sand Hill Preservation Center in Iowa, although I could not find them in last year's catalog; I'll have to save the seeds from last night. I don't know if I've ever had a squash with such rich flavor.

a walk in town

I had to buy lunch today; normally I bring in leftovers from home but there wasn't much of anything left over in the refrigerator. The town where I work is along the freeway halfway between Minneapolis/St. Paul and Duluth, so there are several fast food options out by the interchange. However, my office is located over a mile away from Fast Food Row. Getting fast food necessarily involves driving, and I already drive nearly thirty miles one way to get to work, so I like to avoid any further unneccessary use of my car. The grocery store, three blocks away, has some pretty good deli sandwiches, so I walked to get one.

As long as I was out walking in the warm (40 F) January air, I decided to stop by the thrift store. As in many towns these days, you can't buy new clothing in town; it's all at Wal Mart, fourteen miles down the freeway. I like browsing in the thrift store, and occasionally I get lucky and find something nice. Most clothing is $3 or less, which is all the more reason to shop there. Today I did get lucky; first in the book section I found a copy of Daniel Quinn's Ishmael, which I have been wanting to read, and a Garrison Keillor novel, Love Me. Then I found two pairs of jeans, Levi's and Eddie Bauer, my size (grudgingly admitted) and my style (none of this boot cut, low rider crack-showing stuff for me; I'm into the "relaxed fit" years!) For all of that I paid $7.50.

On my way back to the office, after getting my sandwich, I heard a cardinal singing. That's something I would not have heard as I was waiting in the drive-thru across the freeway!

Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like, or even what this little town would be like, if more people chose to walk places instead of hopping into the car and driving across town for lunch.

Oh yeah? DEFINE "lazy"!

I must give Calvin the credit for taking this fine photo of Whiter Biter.

post deficit disorder

I have come to one of those points where I feel I have nothing to say, so I have (probably wisely) said nothing. Until now. I feel like posting, just for the heck of it, and just because if I don't post, people will probably think "Why don't that gal at Sand Creek Almanac post no more?"

I could post about our new home computer. The old one, which we bought reconditioned a year ago with Windows ME or something like that, was starting to go really slow. It always sounded like it had hamsters running on little wheels inside, but I think one of the hamsters maybe died. At a very inopportune time, since The Hermit had some important e-business going, so he went back to the same shop and traded for something with faster hamsters, like many gigahertz of them. Also many gigabytes of storage, Windows XP, and a DVD/recordable CD drive. I like the look of it, but I do miss the sound of those hamsters running around on their little wheels.

Or I could post the gory details of my 24 hour flu bug, which hit at work on Monday, but...I've already posted a photo of me in a towel headed for the shower. Enough for one week.

Nothing new on the nature observation circuit, except maybe the pair of eagles I observed yesterday while I was lying in my bed recovering from the flu bug. I guess it doesn't get any better than that.

OR...I could post about the strange phenomenon of cat blogging. Somehow my picture of Puffball lying in the sun got posted to the 96th Carnival Of The Cats, and the needle on my Site Meter was buried. I got a record 150 hits on Monday, about 3/4 of them were referred from the cat carnival. There are people who post pictures of cats from time to time, and there are people who actually spend time looking at other people's pictures of cats! This blogging world continues to amaze me. By the way, whoever was responsible for that, it's quite alright, just next time post a picture of Whiter Biter instead; he's getting quite jealous. :)

the do-it-yourself shower, Northwoods style

Step 1: Obtain water. This is our main water supply, a sandpoint well with electric pump, insulated in this pump house and kept from freezing by a space heater on a timer.














Step 2: Haul water to shower and to water heating system (see Step 3). In the summer this step can be eliminated by running a hose to the shower.













Step 3: Heat water.




















Step 4: Fill the shower tank. The tank is a plastic laundry tub with a drain. The Hermit fitted a pipe valve and a shower head to the drain. It takes about ten gallons of cold water, plus six gallons of boiling water, to make a ten minute hot shower.















Step 5: Enjoy a hard earned shower. Yes, I am walking barefoot in the snow; it takes too much time to put on and take off slippers, bathrobes, etc. And it's a balmy 20 degrees so I don't mind. :)

note: this obviously takes a lot of preparation and work, so to conserve energy, The Hermit and I shower together.

downy woodpecker

one year ago...

...Sand Creek Almanac was born. I started it after I read a post on a message board about blogs. I had never even read a blog before, and I was pretty vague on the concept of what one was. I thought it maybe was a way for self-centered people to say "Look at me! Look at me!" :) And now, well...look at me! A certified blogaholic.

What I didn't expect about blogging, aside from the fact that I'd be still doing it one year later, is the community of people I've gotten to know through their comments here and their own blogs, many of which I read daily. Just this week The Hermit got to meet Madcapmum personally, and even though I wasn't there I felt like I'd in some way connected with an old friend. I've gotten to know about different parts of the world, through the daily experiences of people and their eloquent words and beautiful photos.

Blogging has also been a way of communicating with real-life friends whom I do not see every day. Just yesterday I stopped by the organic food store in town and a friend was working there. "I've been reading your blog, Deb," she said, "and I just wanted to let you know when you posted about how hard it was doing the chores alone, I know just how you feel!"

So to all of you who read this, thanks for your interest in what I have to say! I always appreciate your thoughtful comments.

strummin on the old banjo

This quaint little instrument is a banjo mandolin, which sounds like...well, probably the worst of both. Remove the strings and head, and it doubles as a saucepan. But I can take it places I wouldn't think of taking my LaPlant, and Mr. Attitude can strum away as he pleases. He was singing the most fun, totally original song last night; wish I had an audio of this!

yellow goldfinch in winter--new photo!

After teasing and taunting me all morning as he came and went with his flock, this very yellow American goldfinch finally paused long enough for me to get a decent photo. See my previous post for background information on this unusually colored (for winter) bird.

I've been thinking about possible explanations why this male did not molt to olive drab like most of the flock (there are a few individuals with varying degrees of yellow; this one is the most striking). Either he, for some reason, did not molt completely in the fall, or perhaps something caused him to start molting early. I had not noticed a goldfinch with a black forehead patch before yesterday, although I've had an unusual amount of time to sit and look at the bird feeder this week, so maybe it's the result of more observations. But if it were a molting issue, I would think maybe the yellow would be far more patchy. The normal time for males to begin their spring molt to yellow is around mid March here.

Or it could be an odd genetic trait; maybe this fellow's feathers just do not know how to be dull in color. That would put him at a disadvantage with predators, as his bright color contrasts with the muted colors of winter.

In other feeder observations, I observed Common redpolls at the feeder for the first time this winter, although they've been reported elsewhere locally. And very briefly a female Evening grosbeak came to the feeder. I've seen small flocks of them, but this is the first one at the feeder.

Lest you think I've come upon some fortune and now have nothing to do with myself but sit and watch birds all day (don't I wish), Calvin has been feeling under the weather so I am staying home with him and Mr. Attitude. I may be getting the bug myself, but at least I don't have to go out and do chores tonight!

solarcat

I know, there should be support groups for people who compulsively post photos of their felines. But, come on, this is classic! Cat in a southwesterly facing window in full sunshine! It doesn't get any better than this!

Actually, Puffball was being quite the bad pest kitty in the AM, but redeemed himself by being irresistibly cute in the sunny window. This is the same cute kitten I posted pictures of in July, now an obnoxious adolescent. Or, perhaps, a college student (Thanks, dharma bums, if I wasn't on my slow dial-up I'd link to your post!)

unusual winter male goldfinch colors

The American goldfinch is one of the more common visitors at my bird feeder. Male American goldfinches are bright lemon yellow with black and white wings and tail and a black forehead patch in the summer. Normally they will molt and look like the much more drab females in winter, with olive gray replacing the yellow. However, I have noticed several males this winter that look abnormally yellow. Two of them even have the black forehead patch, which is usually absent in winter males. I had the opportunity to photograph one of these today, although I apologize for the poor image quality. The camera with 10x optical zoom is currently traveling with The Hermit, so I had to resort to digital zoom, through a somewhat dirty window, in a very unstable position for me. Nevertheless:

The black forehead is clearly visible in this head-on shot.


Blurry, yes, but look at that yellow!

I'm not sure whether there are regional differences in goldfinch coloration in winter, or even if there is a range of normal for winter color. Does anyone else have more information on this? My bird books are fairly old; I must get a copy of Sibley or one of the other latest ones.

soaking it up

After a long day (or night) of tomcatting outside, Whiter Biter enjoys a good fire. Any closer and we would be smelling burned cat fur.

My major accomplishment of the last couple of days (besides surviving chores) is becoming good at building a fire in the woodstove. Believe it or not, in over three winters here, I have hardly ever had to start a fire; usually that's the Hermit's job, and exactly how he does it has been a closely guarded secret. I have had some miserable attempts before; not enough kindling, not enough paper, too large of wood to start. My first couple of tries since The Hermit has been away were far from perfect, and very frustrating.

Like anything else, it takes practice, which you don't get if you refuse to set yourself up for possible failure. You gotta take a chance. When the incentive is warmth in the house (although I do have a Plan B, a propane heater), risk taking becomes essential. So this morning I hopped out of bed in the darkness and sat in front of the stove. It got down to 9 degrees F outside last night, and the fire probably went out about 2 or 3 AM, but it was still comfortably cool in the house; I don't like sleeping in a too-warm bedroom. But it was time to start a fire, so I placed a thick piece of kindling down, crumpled two sheets of newspaper over it, arranged about five sticks of thin kindling over that, lit a match, and held my breath. The paper ignited, blazed, died down a little, and...success. The kindling was burning nicely, in no danger of going out. I put in two larger sticks, and soon had a perfect fire going.

Shortly thereafter, Whiter Biter came indoors from a night out and about, and settled in his favorite place.

warmth

this is what keeps me warm

the reality of the "simple" life

The short answer: It's anything but simple. It ain't pretty. And what I wouldn't give for a hot bath and a dishwasher right now.

The Hermit is away for a few days pursuing a job opportunity at a location disclosed only to one of my blogging friends. Too much explaining to do otherwise. So I have been living something like the Zen proverb of "chop wood, carry water". The Hermit chopped enough wood before he left that I should be spared the first part, but I'm getting my fill of carrying water, to critters and to fulfill my very hedonistic needs of personal cleanliness. Oh yeah. Add to the first paragraph, A drain, and some very luxurious water-holding fixtures. And some plumbing to fill them. Except a toilet, I still think I don't need to waste water on crap.

I have already decided I'm not cut out to raise animals, other than cats and dogs, for food and/or pleasure. Okay, maybe a FEW chickens for eggs, but I don't want to try to feed anyone else. And don't get me started on horses...

I'm rethinking this whole homesteading thing. Actually, I'd like to be a rich heiress who lives out in the woods by choice, and strives to leave a smaller ecological footprint while enriching the world with my music and writing, but at the same time having the (carefully chosen for their impact) modern conveniences. I don't mind tending a garden, just for the reason that homegrown tastes better and I know where it's coming from, but...and this is the big revelation: I don't think I can be totally self sufficient, nor do I want to strive to be. I would rather have a network of local growers and animal farmers who I can trust to supply my food. That is not a reality here, unfortunately. But it is a nice vision.

Meanwhile, I'm just trying to get through the daily grind here. I hate to sound like I'm complaining, but it definitely has me thinking.

p.s. I want to be in my new house so bad right now. Can you tell?

good morning!

in January?

Yes. Pussy willows already budded out. Unreal.

I was feeling well enough, aided by a few drugs, to venture out this afternoon with The Hermit and Mr. Attitude to our storage shed, which is about twenty miles away, to put away Christmas decorations and get a few things. On the way back we were looking at the landscape, commenting on the unseasonably warm January weather (normally we'd be looking at a major cold spell of -20 F right now) and how global warming will affect our winter weather. We were driving by a large shrub swamp, and The Hermit commented how by late February we'd be seeing the pussy willows budding out. I looked out the window, and what did I see...but pussy willows budding out. Not a lot of them yet, but a few scattered bushes.

Oh well, all is not bad. I adore tufted titmice, which venture as far north as southeastern Minnesota, but we're predicting within ten years we'll be seeing them in our neck of the woods.

pain in the neck

I have a big pain in the neck today, and it's not just my spouse. ;)

Normally my life is fairly pain-free. I'm not befallen by illness too often, and aside from the occasional offspring hurling themselves into my lap and scratching my corneas, I've not sustained any major injuries. But this morning, as I sat up in bed to check the time, I suddenly had the most horrible, sharp pain in my neck. It's been aching the last couple of days, but the way I slept and/or sat up suddenly really did it in. I fell back on my pillow, and literally could not move for the longest time without suffering.

Driving to work was out of the question, so I popped a couple Tylenol codeine that I had left from the eye incident and propped myself up on the couch to watch a couple Northern Exposure episodes we got from Netflix. I'm going to be at the computer just long enough to finish this, then I think I'll pick up Bernd Heinrich's The Winter World, which I'm reading with the gang at Whorled Leaves, and try to catch up with Ontario Wanderer.

white pines, part 3

we don't need no stinkin' ID

The USDA is currently developing a National Animal Identification System (NAIS) that, when fully implemented, would require livestock owners to register all livestock, including poultry. Walter at Sugar Mountain Farm has written an excellent summary of the implications this program could have on small-scale farmers, or even people who want to keep a few chickens in the backyard for eggs or meat. You can read his post here .

My first reaction to this possibility was "forget it. Why bother raising chickens at all if you have to go through all the government paperwork?"

Which is exactly what the government, and industrial agriculture, want me to think. Self-sufficiency is under attack.

white pines, part 2

what a difference a sunny day makes. We hadn't had a clear day like this in weeks.

the white pines

wildlife observations

I took a little drive today at about 3:30 in the afternoon, mainly to see if the great gray owl I'm absolutely positive is hanging around here would be visible. No such luck, but I did see a coyote about a mile from my house. I knew it was a coyote, and not a timberwolf, because there was an inch of fresh snow, perfect for observing tracks, and the tracks were not big enough to be a wolf. The coyote had beautiful reddish/tan fur.

Tonight I was treated to the sound of two great horned owls calling to each other; I presume they were male and female. Are they starting to mate already? They were so near I could even hear them from inside the cookshed; probably in the aspen woods just across the swamp. A beautiful, haunting sound.

skating pond

I took this photo from what would be our swimming beach in the summer. Now, on the other side of the year, I spent the morning trying to get the ice in suitable condition for ice skating. In an ideal year, there would be a week or more of below freezing temperatures, without precipitation, to build up some good clear ice, then after a snowfall it would stay cold enough that the snow would not turn to slush on the pond before it could be shoveled off.

This year we had the cold weather, we had the snow, but then the day before I was going to shovel the pond, Christmas eve, the temperature went above freezing and we had over a week of unseasonably warm weather. Our driveway turned into an ice slick, but the several inches of snow on the pond turned slushy. The best thing to do in that case is to wait until it is cold enough to let the snow crust over, then try to shovel it. It helps if, once shoveled, there is a sunny day to melt the surface a little, and then refreeze it nice and smooth.

This morning I decided the conditions might be right to shovel. I certainly got my exercise, as pushing the steel shovel through crusty snow takes a lot of energy. I got the ice cleared in about an hour. It's not perfectly smooth, but if there is good weather and not much snow in the next day or two it will work. Although note the snowflakes in the photo. As soon as I laid the shovel down, it started.

The kids came out to the newly shoveled pond and had fun playing "penguins", after seeing March Of The Penguins. I figured after enough video games, they would be ready to seek out some outdoor fun and fresh air on their own.

Will play for beer, etc.

I spent a good part of today undoing the effects of the Christmas frenzy. That is, the house should be clear now of stray bits of tinsel and those annoying wire ties that come bound to every present these days. The kids have been doing video games all day; another cloudy dreary day, the 13th in a row, not much incentive to go out. I myself ventured as far as the mailbox. A flock of about ten evening grosbeaks taunted me with their cheery calls from the top of an aspen, but as soon as I pointed the camera at them they disappeared. Why don't they come to my feeder?

The Hermit went to Duluth to buy some dress shirts for upcoming job interviews. He informed me that on the cross road about a mile from our house, he saw three spruce grouse. Spruce grouse would not be unheard of around here, but definitely uncommon. I saw a spruce grouse once, when we were cross country skiing near the Gunflint Trail on the Minnesota/Canada border. It was sitting in a spruce tree (what else?) at about eye level, and didn't mind that I stopped and stared at it for about five minutes while the rest of the group caught up with me. I'll say that again: While the rest of the group caught up with me. Did you get that? ;) By the way, I was four months' pregnant with my first offspring at the time! Spruce grouse are very tame birds. I'll have to go out tomorrow and see if I can see them. Dang it, The Hermit is winning in the bird sighting category so far this winter. Something must change.

Last night's gig was probably the most fun so far, although for some reason I always had the sensation that the pick was rotating and about to fly out of my right hand during the mandolin duets, and my guitar sounded perpetually out of tune and my capo wasn't always tight enough. Besides that...as if anyone noticed, we had some groups there that really seemed to get into the music, and really appreciated the Irish flute/mandolin duets we added to the set list. It's a strange gig; mostly a dinner crowd, not really a stand-alone bar, so you want to do your stuff but not encroach on someone's dinner too much. But I noticed that, as each party left, and they had to walk right by us to get out the door, they attempted to make eye contact and smile as if to say thanks. Some even left thanks in the tip jar, which was nice.

That said, I have one complaint. A big complaint. The past two times we have played there, beers were on the house. That's kind of standard; If you don't pay someone to entertain your dinner customers, the least you can do is give them free beer. But last night, during our break, I stood at the bar for about ten minutes before this snarky looking blonde gal bartender finally looked at me and said, "umm, did you want something?" I ordered a Summit Pale Ale on tap, what I've had there before. As she gave it to me she asked "Did you want to start a tab?" A tab? Did my music suck that much? At the end of the night, we had a couple more, and ended up being charged for every one. I felt like The Blues Brothers at Bob's Country Bunker: "Your pay for the night is one hundred dollars, and you guys drank four hundred dollars worth of beer..." I don't know. I like playing there, but before we play there again I think we need to work out some sort of agreement. Will play, for beer.

Irish flute

I have been playing the flute since just before I turned twelve; that is, more years than I care to count. It wasn't my first instrument, piano, guitar, and violin (surprisingly) take those honors, but it is the one that I got to know the best, and at which I became most proficient. I have public school music programs, which favor "band" instruments, and college "band", now known as "wind orchestra", to thank for some of that. After college, I played in church, for community theater, and in a community orchestra, trying to keep my music alive.

But at the same time, I was discovering folk music. The 1992 Telluride Bluegrass Festival was a major turning point for me; I fell in love with bluegrass and roots music. I was inspired to learn the mandolin, and rediscover the guitar. But my flute, which I knew so well, was somehow foreign to all of that. It was not welcome at "bluegrass" jams. I had to find a way to work it in to the music that was now a part of me. It was then that I happened to purchase a copy of "The Fiddler's Fake Book".

It's not a fake book, it's a real book filled with really good roots music, intended to give primarily fiddle players a resource for learning the rich tradition of tunes that can be described as "fiddle music". I, having abandoned my violin/fiddle long ago to pursue the flute, used it as a resource for mandolin tunes. Then, I happened to discover something. There were some Irish tunes in there, and they were really fun to play on my flute. I became proficient at a few of them, just playing by myself. I thought it would be really fun to play this stuff with others some day. I listened to Altan, The Bothy Band, Matt Molloy, The Chieftains, and The Gaels, thinking "wow. this is FUN!"

Today I finally bared my Irish soul to another and shared the sound that had previously just served to annoy my cats. I played some Irish tunes on my flute, with Fred on mandolin, and it sounded really good. Incredibly fun as a matter of fact, so fun that we are playing some of them tomorrow at our now-somewhat-regular gig at the Hanging Horn. We have gotten to be rather eclectic; we do everything from Bill Monroe to Greg Brown to Townes Van Zandt to Kate Wolf to John Prine to old fiddle and Irish tunes. With a little practice we are ten times better than our original recording of "Early" that I shared. And I'm having a heck of a good time doing it.

2005 Christmas Bird Count results for Pine County

The Pine County Christmas Bird Count was done last Wednesday, December 28th. Unfortunately I was not able to participate; Patty had invited me but I had to stay home with the kids that day. The results were recently posted on the Minnesota Ornithologists' Union listserv. In keeping with my goal of having this blog be an almanac of local natural phenomena, I'll share some of the findings, and how they differ, surprisingly, with my own observations.

A total of 33 species were seen. The top ten, by numbers, were:

1. Common Redpoll - 383
2. Black-capped Chickadee - 284
3. European Starling - 218
4. Evening Grosbeak - 212
5. Blue Jay - 122
6. Rock Pigeon - 108
7. American Crow - 80
8. Pine Siskin - 71
9. House Sparrow - 68
10. American Goldfinch - 55

I have yet to see a single redpoll at home or at work! And those elusive Evening Grosbeaks; I hear them in the treetops occasionally but so far they have stayed away from my feeder. The chickadee numbers come as no surprise; I have seen groups of ten to fifteen chickadees every day at my feeder. It seems there are more chickadees around this year than I have noticed in other years. I have seen one pine siskin sporadically, but goldfinches are regular visitors and number nearly as many as chickadees. Fortunately starlings, pigeons, and house sparrows are not common at my house; they prefer the barn loft and plentiful hay and manure at the place across the road.

The report goes on to say pine grosbeaks and purple finches were common at feeders; I have one lone purple finch that has been visiting, but no pine grosbeaks as of yet. I tried to photograph the purple finch without much success; the 10x optical zoom should be arriving shortly!

An interesting note was that downy woodpeckers were hard to find this year. I have at least one male and one female that have been visiting the feeder every day.

Uncommon species included one black-backed woodpecker, and one boreal chickadee in an area about twelve miles north of me. I saw a black backed woodpecker three years ago here, but have not seen one since. A boreal chickadee is on my list of birds I would like to see. The report said it was "called in"; I'll have to learn how to do that!

Another notable sighting was that of five golden-crowned kinglets. Ontario Wanderer has provided some good information on this species over at Whorled Leaves, the group nature/writing blog I'm a part of.

No northern owl species were reported; I have been scanning roadsides and fields on my way to and from work, although the light is still pretty dim then, hoping to see a great gray, northern hawk owl, or snowy owl. And I just know that great gray is hanging around somewhere near my place!

I had told Patty about my robin, and since then The Hermit has seen a couple of robins at a different location, but no robins were noted in the report, at least in the summary, which does not give a complete species list. Also, we have a ring-necked pheasant hanging around our horse pasture, very unusual for here.

I'll have to try to make it for the count next year. I could probably learn a lot from the more "hard-core" birders that participate, like how to call in a Boreal chickadee.

different stuff here!

Two major differences when I arrived home tonight. First, the one I could perceive when I walked in the door, was the heat. It was not wood heat. The Hermit had hooked up our new propane heater, and now we don't have to feed a fire every two hours if we don't feel like it. And we can be gone from the house for a day or so and not have to come home to a cold house and the prospect of building a fire. I like my wood stove, but I also like the convenience this heater will offer.

The second was the Game Cube. Yes, video games. The kids hardly took time for dinner. They are enthralled. Usually, while we're in the cook shed preparing dinner, one or more of the kids will come out and encroach on our small space more than once. Not so tonight. i'm thinking I may even be able to play some music.

I know, I've thought long and hard, but I think as long as we adults impose some reasonable limits, video games are not necessarily a bad thing. For once they are, all three of them, focused on one thing, cooperating a little, and giving each other tips. The games will not replace a sunny day outside in the snow, but since the sun has not shown its bright face here in about a month, no one feels like venturing out, and I cannot blame them. It's downright dreary out there!

I just returned from a trip out to the composting toilet/outhouse with Starflower. When it is dark, I must accompany. We encountered a mouse that had fallen into the near-empty wood shavings bucket. Starflower freaked, I dumped the offending vermin outside. Such is life here!

Sand Creek, 3:30 pm, January 2nd

Looking east from our road



Looking southwest from a tributary about a mile directly across the swamp from my place. You can just barely see the outlines of the white pines at my home.

Note: I edited the original photos for color saturation and reposted them today. They look much more like the original lighting now, way less blue. Digital photography is so fun!!

didn't Bob Dylan mention something like this?

Puffball, being a pest kitty. As usual.

Towards a joyful 2006

New Year's Day seems at the surface to be a superficial reason to have a holiday. After all, what's to celebrate about the turning of the calendar, which after all is just one more turn in the endless wheel of time?

But there is something different about this day, something contemplative and mystical. It is a time for inevitably looking back at the previous year, analyzing its successes and downfalls. But it is also a clean slate, a time for looking ahead, a time for realizing that every day is a new one full of hope. Perhaps this feeling is also brought on by the as-yet subtle but increasing amount of daylight. We have been under cover of clouds for way too long, so the increasing light is not noticeable, but maybe it's the idea that counts.

It was in this spirit that I celebrated "out with the old, in with the new". The family celebration reflected this. The loss of my mother was the major event of the old year, but time is passing and we are healing. Our belated Christmas was certainly more festive than Thanksgiving. My dad even laughed and joked about the thoughtful gift of new bath towels that my brother and sister in law gave. I remember every single towel in that house; Mom would never throw any one of them away, nor splurge on new ones. There is memory, and there is life that goes on.

I don't make a habit of making resolutions, but a few "revelations" came to me on this turning point. Simply stated, they are:

In the coming year, I want to:

1. Live a more joyful life. Appreciate the joy there is every day, while not wasting time on every negative thing that happens. Find ways to reduce the feeling of living day to day drudgery.

2. Do things that really make me happy. I won't elaborate too much, but in the past I have made way too many excuses why this has not been done as much as it should.

3. Be more adventurous. Beyond, that is, the daily adventure that is living with three vivacious children. I want to go cross country skiing, canoeing, traveling, exploring, camping. That we did not use the tent once during 2005 was a tragedy.

2006 was certainly brought in joyfully, in the company of friends that are THE BEST gift of 2005. We shared good food, some music, laughter, and conversation as the kids got a chance to "run wild". Calvin and Starflower ended up spending the night with their friends, while The Hermit and I went home with Mr. Attitude to tend the home fire, but we returned in the morning to collect offspring and once more share in a relaxed meal and conversation. A wonderful time was had by all; we were almost sad to see it end. On the way home we kept scanning the bare trees, hoping to perhaps see a great gray owl. In the days of winter, we miss their presence that was a joy starting about this time last year.